


Bit Parts

by Miniatures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Actor AU, Fluff, Gabriel doesn't like himself, Kisses, Light Angst, M/M, Sam likes him anyways, shameless fluff, very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2787902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miniatures/pseuds/Miniatures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel Novak is the regular emcee at conventions for a show he's not even on anymore, and he's fine with that, he swears. Hey, if it helps him stay close to leading man Sam Winchester, who's he to complain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bit Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the cuteness preceding Richard retiring the gym shorts at BurCon 2013. Except Sabriellier.

Gabriel Novak is minor. A minor actor playing a minor character on the show for which, ironically, he was best known. And yeah, he hosts the conventions, and yeah, the fans seem to like him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s only famous for a playing a bit part. He’s barely a blip in the cinemascape. A nothing. A nobody. Minor.

He swears he isn’t bitter. He isn’t, honestly. The conventions are great. The adulation is better. The other cast members are the best. But the teenaged theatre geek in him, the shlubby, pierced punk with dreams of Broadway and red carpets—sometimes that kid claws its way out of the catacombs of his brain and screams.

Today is like that. The current con is winding down, a couple of fan favourites plus the Big Panel left. The stars of the show, Sam and Dean Winchester—brothers, playing best friends—are going on in an hour. Gabriel has just introduced Castiel Milton and Fergus Crowley’s panel and shuffled off backstage to relax in the greenroom. He catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror hung crooked on the wall. Bags under his eyes, a droop to his mouth and cheeks. Fuck.

Gabriel wouldn’t call himself an envious man. He’s comfortable where he is, pulling strings from the sidelines and just having fun. Parties and food, men and women, banter with the house band and stars. Rubbing elbows with the sexy and the sweet. Feeling like he’s a part of something bigger while still sitting cozy in his wild little pocket of the world.

Still, he’s pretty sure he’d kill for a pinch of whatever fucking fairy dust allows men like Castiel and Crowley to land meaty parts while he plays the clown on the sidelines.

Gabriel pours himself a cup of coffee—six sugars and five creams—and sits.

The greenroom is mostly empty. He’s alone for more than a half hour before Sam joins him.

“How’re you doing?” he asks, because for all that he’s a snarky mountain of a leading man, Sam Winchester is a fucking sweetheart.

“Eh, can’t complain, Samsquatch.” Gabriel stirs his coffee with his pinkie, pops it in his mouth and sucks it clean. “Tired, I guess, but it’s for the fans.” He waved an airy hand. “I shall soldier on.”

“Aw,” Sam smirks. “What a trooper.”

“You’ve been here for what, five minutes? Calm your tits, Winchester.”

“I shot a death scene yesterday, Novak. I _died,_ I’m _exhausted.”_

“Poor baby, fake-dying really takes a lot out of you, I know.”

“Screw you,” Sam laughs.

“You love me.”

Sam’s smile softens. Gabriel takes a long gulp of his coffee rather than return the gesture, because he’s learned from experience that exchanging soft smiles with Sam Winchester is a good way to ruin one’s life. Sam wrinkles his nose as he sets down the cup.

“Look at that, it’s practically _white._ How do you taste the coffee?”

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows. “I don’t. That’s the point, kiddo.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Then why drink it at all?"

“It's delicious, is why.” Gabriel gnaws at his lip a long moment, sighs. “And I really am tired.”

Sam frowns, reaches a hand partway across the table. Gabriel isn’t sure whether he means him to meet him in the middle, or if Sam decided mid-gesture that he didn’t want to touch him after all. He also isn’t sure which is more terrifying.

“What’s wrong?” And goddammit, it isn’t _right_ that a man that offensively large should also be so _good_. There should be a law.

“Do you… do you think I’m a good actor, Sam?”

Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that. Is it possible to backspace a conversation? It should be. How pathetic could he get?

Sam’s brow furrows. “Of course I do! What kind of a question is that?”

“I dunno. It was stupid. I’m just… I miss it sometimes. I haven’t really been in much since my character bit it here.”

“Well, no, but… Y’know that’s not because of a lack of talent, right? You’re _great,_ man, really you are. If the phones aren’t ringing, it’s nothing to do with your acting.”

“I guess I know that, yeah.” Gabriel pats his belly.

Sam’s frown deepens. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s true, though. I’m not you, Sam. I’m not Dean. I’m built for bit parts.” He smiles. “And that’s okay. I just… wish there were more to go around, sometimes.”

Sam opens his mouth, but Dean walks in before he can say anything more.

Gabriel leaves for the panel shuffle, sets Sam and Dean up and fucks off back to the greenroom. He feels a bit better now—always does, after being onstage.

When the time comes to collect the stars, Gabriel feels the same pushback from the audience as he always does. The groans, the boos, the miserable _awws_ as he makes a show of dragging Sam and Dean away from their adoring public.

“I know, I know, guys,” he says. “I feel your pain. I mean, _look_ at these two. How can you expect _anyone_ to control themselves around—oh _god_ , he _looked at me!”_

Gabriel turns away from a smirking Dean, hiding his face. “Oh my god, you guys, did you _see that?”_

There are staccato bursts of laughter coming from the audience, and Gabriel feels the give of the stage behind him—somebody’s doing something. But before he can turn and see who, there are musclebound arms wrapped around his middle and a familiar laugh in his ear. Sam scoops him up and twirls him around, plants a sloppy wet kiss against his cheek—and another on his _ear_ , what the holy fuck.

“You’re built for more,” Sam whispers, leaving another kiss on Gabriel’s temple before putting him down. His hand lingering one incredible, agonizing moment too long on Gabriel’s lower back. _Lower back._ Gabriel may never form sentences again.

The audience is still hollering and thankfully nobody seems to have noticed that Gabriel hasn’t exactly reacted yet. He raises the microphone and begins fanning himself with his free hand. Fitting, as he is fairly certain that his face is on fire.

“Whoo! Oh my god, guys, I think I’m gonna pass out, I can’t _even_ with these two!”

Sam winks at him as the three of them leave the stage. Thankfully the day isn’t quite over yet, or they would’ve had to linger and say their goodbyes, and Gabriel doesn’t think he can handle that shit right now.

“Getting fresh out there, huh, Sambo?” He tries to keep his tone casual. Probably fails miserably.  

“I thought you could use it.” Sam grins, throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. “And, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner with me later. After the last panel. My flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, so, ah…”

“My, my, Sammy Boy, I didn’t think you were one to kiss a guy _before_ asking him out.” He pinches himself out of Sam’s sight. Not a dream. Died and gone to heaven then, perhaps.

Sam flushes, grins wider. “Not a _date._ But we’d be alone. And there’ll quite possibly be candles.”

“Ooh, a platonic dinner by candlelight. You know the way to my heart.”

“I hope so.” Sam’s smile softens again, and this time Gabriel returns it. He figures he’s due for a little life-ruination.  

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you get when you combine one part me being uncomfortable with RPS, one part me wanting an actors-at-a-con AU, and one part me needing more Sabriel fluff in my life? This, apparently.


End file.
